"Jack Dann - Art Appreciation" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dann Jack)

this the real problem? He had never really been observed, never been the object of
love and focus and interest, never had a sense of real connection. No wonder La
Giaconda wouldn’t eat him. He couldn’t even establish a relationship at the point of
consumption.
“Excuse me,” he said very loudly to the woman in red. “You shouldn’t do
that, please.”
 Now it seemed that he had caught her attention. She had fine tense lips, an
openness of expression, an enormity of mood into which Evans felt he could
suddenly plunge. He suddenly and truly loved her. As he stared at her in this moment
of revelation, he had never been at such a distance in his life.
“Do what?” she asked. “What are you talking about?”
“The painting,” he said hopelessly. “I want to tell you about the painting.”
The woman put both hands on her pocketbook, backed a crucial step away
from the Mona Lisa. Her cheekbones cast light, cast swift intelligence. Oh, he was
definitely communicating, getting something through now. He had taken her a step
away from the painting, and that was definitely progress.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean?”
Her face showed interest, but it was that of the student, of the appreciator of
art, of the listener to a recorded guided tour. The handbag could have been a device
whispering words of information as she rubbed it subtly against her face, her ear. All
portent, no possibility. Evans thought of calling for a guard, then put that thought
away. It was hopeless. There was simply no way of dealing with the situation. I
should have followed the jogger instead, he thought. I would have had fresh air, and
she would not have been in danger.
“I don’t know what I mean,” Evans said abruptly. “I’m just trying to tell you
about that painting. You shouldn’t be near -- “
“Do you want something? What do you want?” Displeasure streaked her
beautiful features now; she seemed to be plunging toward a turmoil of accusation.
Evans could pick up on those signs, too. He had had plenty of experience at a
difficult mid-Yellow point of life. “Why don’t you just go away,” the woman said.
Well, there was nothing to say to that. Evans had nothing to say. If he went
away, which was a reasonable possibility, he would confirm her impression; but then
he would leave her exposed to the Mona Lisa smash and grab. Meanwhile, the
guards were no factor unless she began to scream. She could start screaming very
soon, though. Evans had the feeling that he was working within narrow perimeters
here. Although he had the smallest possibility of achievement, he had to plunge on.
“You’re very pretty,” he said. “You’re beautiful in fact. But you’re too close to that
painting. Move back another step.”
“Are you a member of security?” “Yes. If you will. If you want to call me
that. I’m trying to keep you secure, can’t you see?”
“You don’t act like a security person,” the woman said, not pleasantly.
Disgust seemed to be seeping, along with confusion, into her sensitive features. “I
don’t think you’re on staff at all.”
“You don’t understand,” Evans said. “The painting is only on loan.”
 “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It’s not permanently ours. It’s a bait-and-switch game. It picks up and
reassembles in France, maybe. The population problem -- “
But now she had clearly reached an opinion as she backed slowly away from
him. But at least she was moving away from the painting. Opening up space. That
was the important thing. Evans followed her irresistibly. They moved in tandem